Epitaph
by Diego Zeyon
Summary: A companion to Mystery of the Heart: the story of Amoscandar, father of Zonaphèras, and all of the experiences that composed his long and tragic life.
1. Prologue

A/N: I guess I just can't leave this alone, can I?

First of all, if you don't know who Amos is, I suggest reading my other story set in Ambera, _Silver Resistance: Mystery of the Heart_. Otherwise none of this will make much sense at all.

I'll admit, when I first came up with Amos he was little more than a plot device, and I had no idea I'd grow so attached to him. But I guess I have, because I've started working on this story-set to focus exclusively on him.

I have no idea how long this will be; I also make no promises as to any kind of update schedule. As well, it must be understood from the get-go that this story will by its nature be anachronistic: the story won't be told in any kind of chronological order. If you can't stand that, sorry; wrong story for you.

Amoscandar and Sera are mine; Ambera and all related material is ScytheRider's; Pokémon and all related official material is Nintendo's.

* * *

**Ambera – North of the Gold Division – Nighttime – Year 693**

"Inside, quickly!" he barked, backing out of the hole and casting an anxious glance at the sky. It was fully dark now, and yellow eyes were popping up all over the place.

Behind him, he heard the Torchic dive into the hole he'd dug. Growling at the Watchers still materializing overhead, he turned and dashed in after the much smaller Fire-type.

He had not had time to make the hole bigger, and so between the two of them and the bag that had been laid across his back there was not a whole lot of room to maneuver, and no room for any kind of light source: the two of them were trapped in the dark, with the Watchers floating around outside. He kept a wary eye on the entrance for a few minutes to make sure none of the phantasms would enter; all the while, the Torchic sat pressed against the far wall of the foxhole, hyperventilating.

"Oh man oh man oh man what if they come in? They'll eat us, Captain! They'll—"

Her protests were cut off suddenly as Amos wrapped a tail around her and pulled her up against him. She was still shivering violently, but even this died down after a few moments of being pressed up against the much larger Pokémon.

"I assure you, child, they will not enter here. Rudimentary it may be, but a shelter is a shelter, and they will not enter one without sufficient provocation."

The Torchic was silent for a second, and then uttered a sound of pure confusion. Amos checked himself.

"I mean to say… We are safe here, Sera. A Watcher will not enter any kind of shelter, no matter how basic. We will be safe here until sunlight drives them away."

"Oh." Another moment of silence. "Um…. Captain?"

"Yes, Sera?" he replied, turning his head away from the entrance and laying it down on his paws, red eyes shining slightly despite the darkness, emitting a kind of gentle warmth that helped abate fear.

"What… are the Watchers?"

Amoscandar said nothing for a long while. Indeed, what was there to say? He could not tell her what he did not know. A gaping hole in his knowledge, that: shrouded in mystery, just like the identity of the Master himself. How long had he been at this Resistance business? Too long, he realized sullenly. Too much effort for not enough gain. All he had done was endured, and that for too long. Perhaps the Call capable of routing the Master would never come…

He blinked, realizing he had never responded to the Torchic's question. "Ah… I honestly… cannot say, Sera. I know nothing more about them than you."

"Really?" She seemed amazed. "Really, you don't know? But you're so smart, Captain! And you've lived for such a long time! I thought for sure you knew _everything_!"

"_Everything_?" Amoscandar chuckled wryly. "Hardly everything, child. I dare say Alakazam is a far smarter Pokémon than I. No, what I have is not _intelligence_, child, so much as I have _wisdom._"

"Well, then, you're really wise!" chirped the Torchic happily. She seemed to have forgotten entirely about the dire circumstances she was in, and Amos was glad that her worry and fear had gone. Again, a wry laugh escaped his muzzle.

"Yes… well, perhaps I am. But not simply because of my _age_, little one."

Sera chirped in confusion again.

"Nay, child, it is more than simply the length of one's life that yields wisdom. Longevity in and of itself does not grant wisdom. Experience is the greatest teacher, not the living of life. On the one tail, here is a Ninetales who has lived his full life isolated in the mountains, never leaving, never exploring; on the other, here is a baby Vulpix who, in the short span of her life, has lost her family and her home. I pray you, in that instant, tell me which you think is the wiser?"

There was a thoughtful silence for a little while.

"Um… The baby, right? 'Cause even though she hadn't lived as long, stuff had happened in her life already…"

"Yes." Amos inhaled, and realized he had little to add; anticlimactically, he shut his muzzle and turned his head away from her slightly.

"So you must have experienced a lot…"

Amos said nothing.

"Captain?"

"What?" Amos shook his head, ears twitching. "Oh… Yes. Yes, I have…"

"Um… Are you okay?" asked Sera after a short pause, hopping up beside his muzzle and cocking her head worriedly.

"I am fine, Sera," he muttered, looking forward again. "I… There is simply quite a lot on my mind." He paused. "It is late, Sera. I promise you, you will be able to sleep in peace. I will protect you."

"Okay…" agreed the Fire-type uncertainly after a moment. He wrapped a tail about her and drew her close to him, and after mere minutes the sound of her breathing and the feel of her heartbeat had slowed. She had been more tired than she had let on: had he been driving her too hard?

Had he become so calloused to this life? Had he become so engrained in his routine that he had stopped paying attention to the individuals? Perhaps… perhaps it was time to…

Amoscandar's eyes drifted shut, and for the first time in a long time he dreamed of before.


	2. Birth

A/N: The kit and his family belong to me. Pokémon in general belongs to Nintendo.

* * *

**Birth **

_"The birth, the witnessing of new life entering the world innocent and clean, is a miracle to behold. It is, however, far less of a miracle to experience."_

**Johto – Route 48 – Year 0**

He

He was

aware

in a way he'd never been before.

_Shaking_

_Stiff_

_Move_

He was encased in silence and darkness, though it would be a long time before he knew what that meant. He could not see, could not hear, could not smell: to him, the universe was small and warm and hard at the edges.

A shaking_. Rumbling_

He needed

to

move

His thoughts were fragmented _uncomfortable_ and disjointed; whether he thought them all at once or whether there were hours at a time between them he did not know.

_Vibration_

_Shaking_

_Comfortable_

_Need to_

_need to move._

_Get_

_out._

He pushed—he didn't know why—and pushed more, straining at _need to move_ the edges of the universe with a weak forepaw. The world, the whole world was shaking and vibrating and _he needed to move and_

Something gave.

It was

cold. The cold hurt.

Unhappy. It wasn't the same, now that he'd broken out of the universe. He had been warm and content and now was unhappy and shivering _but he still needed to move_

He kept pushing with his other four limbs, and with his head, his nose. Somehow, even though he knew the outside of the universe was cold and unhappy and _shiver need-warm_ he knew he was supposed to get out.

Rumbling. Comforting. The vibrations were familiar to him somehow, even though he'd not been aware _so cold_ before now…

Something warm and dry and big wrapped around him. _Warm_. It seemed he'd been in the cold outside of the universe for ages, and now there was a warm dryness around him that reminded him of the inside of the universe. It felt funny _warm_ _love_ but somehow he knew it was right _love_ and that he was safe, even outside of his universe, he would be safe now. For the first time, his thoughts came together.

_I love you._

_Mommy._

Darkness and silence, and there were no smells. He lived in a simple world, one of touch and of taste, the familiar, protecting, loving warmth of his mother and the milk she offered him.

Mother.

He did not know how the concept had entered his mind. He did not know much of anything, or indeed, think much of anything aside from his need to be warm and his need to drink. But somehow, somehow he _knew_ that was what this other thing was, this big, warm happiness that kept him safe and fed. _Mother_.

There were others there. Other small bodies like his, warm and soft. They were all pushy and mean and more often than not Mother had to nose them apart. But they were not mean all the time: from time to time it would get cold, and Mother would wrap them in her pleasant dry warmness and he would sleep.

There was another there, another one like Mother that was not her. This other was big and warm just like her, but its fur was coarser and it didn't seem so nice. As well, it never offered him any food, and it was not nearly as affectionate as Mother was. It would often push him away when he tried to explore, nuzzling and touching and feeling, and he would retreat to the safety of his mother and her relaxing, calming vibrations.

_I love you, Mommy…_

One day when he woke up he could see and hear and smell. It came all at once, this inrush of new sensory information, and that morning when he woke up he was so surprised that he screamed; and then because screaming made his ears hurt, and then his head, he stopped screaming and buried his muzzle into his mother's great golden fur and refused to make a sound afterwards. It was dark around, except behind him where brightness seemed to spill in from some place that was not the den.

She woke up instantly, aware that one of her kits was distressed, and within moments he felt her nuzzling him. When she spoke, he recognized the vibrations that he had come to love, and though the sounds were still strange to him and hurt his sensitive ears, he listened and found comfort. He could not make sense of anything she said, but he nevertheless felt calm and peaceful, just knowing that this was his mother—this was the one he loved and trusted, the one that kept him safe—

There were others there. He could feel them all around him, some of them making noises like Mother, except that theirs were higher in pitch and made him flinch. Mother protectively wrapped her long golden tails around him, and he pressed up against them, shivering. For the first time, he turned and saw his siblings.

There were two of them. Somehow it had felt like more when he could not see or smell or hear them, but now he knew their look and their smell and it would stay with him until his dying day. One was larger than he, fur an off-white, almost grayish color; the other was smaller, or around the same size as he was, with snow-white fur and wide, brown eyes that stood stark on her colorless muzzle.

The gray one made noises that he couldn't understand, and his mother replied in kind, warm tails wrapping more tightly about him. The gray one seemed confused, and opened his muzzle to say something, but he was interrupted by another great golden figure, like his mother but different, who came tearing into the small den, eyes alight, snarling. He tried to shrink away from this new being, and Mother spoke in a calming tone. The light in the other's eyes dimmed, and the golden-furred being stared at him appraisingly.

Mother said something else. The other nodded, replying in a short, gruff growl, before turning and sweeping out of the den.

He stared after the departing figure, shaking in fear, until his mother stood and nuzzled him, making calming noises. He barely had time to realize he was tired before he fell asleep again, comfortable in her warmth and her scent.

He learned to speak quickly, picking up on sounds and impressions and movements that had confused him. Within two days he could understand most of what was said to him, though his speech was still simple and hesitant. He had learned who the others were—his mother, yes, and the one like her but not had been his father. And he had two siblings—those were the other beings, the ones like him. He even learned their names: the gray one, the male, his elder brother, Ezrayudosi; and the female, the smaller one closer to his own age, Ezradicera.

But he himself did not yet have a name.

"Mother," he began one day, restless. The other two were asleep and Father was, like he was so often, out hunting or exploring or doing whatever it is he did.

"What is it, my littlest one?"

"Why… do I not have a name?"

"Because you have not earned it yet, my dear little one…" She nuzzled him, and he inhaled, loving her scent. "Names are not things that are given lightly, or without thought. Names are powerful things, little Vulpix, descriptors that bind us to our destinies. Before we give you a name, we want to be sure it is the best name for you."

"Do you have a name?" he asked her, tilting his head curiously as he'd seen Yudosi do whenever he asked a question.

"Me? Why, of course I have a name, little snowball." His mother radiated a gentle amusement. "But like you it took a long time for my mother and father to decide what to call me."

"How quickly did you name Yudosi and Cera?"

"Yudosi? Well, almost immediately. He is the Dawn's Sentinel—always awake just before the sun rises, ready to watch it climb into the sky. And Cera… well, she was slightly later, perhaps a week. In fact, we named her just a few days before your eyes opened. She is Dawn's Grace, a kind soul who is willing to forgive as certain as the sun rises each day."

"Oh…" He nodded. "That's nice…" He had never seen the sunrise—he had never been outside the den. He was not old enough, according to his father. It was safest that he stay inside with his mother and his siblings.

"Do not fret, my little snowball," said Mother, leaning forward to nuzzle his thickening topknot again. "You will have a name soon enough—and it will be a perfect name, one that suits to down to the very tip of your tail. I promise you, it will be worth the wait."

She was right, of course. Who had he been to doubt his mother? In fact his name came to him soon enough, within two days' span of when he'd asked the question. It was nighttime—that is, there was no light tumbling in from outside the den—and the five of them, his siblings and his parents and himself, were all clustered together, a warm bundle of fur. He was comfortable, but not tired, his eyes open and searching the darkness of the den—for what, he didn't know.

"Little Vulpix," rumbled his father suddenly. He started slightly, raising his head and looking over: his father's eyes glowed slightly in the darkness, a light he found comfortable, though not as welcoming as his mother's.

"Father?"

Kheskearos said nothing for a long moment, still looking at him. Finally, he spoke again, the kit's mother's name, "Azeraphèri…"

"Yes, my dearest?" His mother's voice caused her whole body to vibrate. The kit, pressed up against her, was comforted by the feeling.

"Consider our youngest, the one with no name… Have you watched him? He speaks little, only when he is spoken to, and yet his eyes are constantly on the move, constantly looking out to see and to wonder and to learn… and perhaps to protect."

"Have you come up with a name for him?"

"I believe I have." Kheskearos inhaled, turning ever so slightly toward the kit. "You are the one who is always watching. Nou Ru se Fas I name you, the one of the ever-moving eyes and quick reactions, impossible to surprise. May you bear that name until the flame takes you."

"Norusephas," echoed his mother. "So you see, my little snowball?" she murmured as the newly-dubbed Vulpix turned toward her. "A name that suits you from your bright eyes to the tip of your tail."

Hesitantly, he spoke. "N-Norus… Norusephas." The sounds were strange to him, and yet familiar and comforting at the same time. They were _his sounds_—his ideas, his _name_, and he promised himself he would do as Father had requested and bear it with pride until the day his flame rose from within and consumed him. Happy, now, content in his identity, he settled down to sleep again.


	3. Resistance

**Resistance**

_"The Master had made an enemy of me, and he would know it soon enough."_

**Ambera – The Gold Division – Year 215**

When Amos woke, he was surrounded on all sides by cold, brown stone. The room was small—a cell, more like, lit by a single flickering orange torch set against the far wall. He slowly got to his paws, looking for any kind of weakness or break in the walls, but they were smooth; the only hole was in the ceiling, far too high up for him to reach and too small for him to get through in any case. Based on the solid nature of the walls around him, he was forced to assume it was an air hole and little more.

How had he gotten here, if there was no way in? It must have been a Ghost-type, grabbing his unconscious body and dragging him through wall and floor and ceiling alike as though they were nothing. His stomach protested irritably that he hadn't eaten, only furthering his opinion.

They were no doubt monitoring him; he could feel a set of eyes on the back of his head, but whenever he turned he saw only more solid stone.

"If you were waiting for me to wake, then you must wait no further," Amos said.

_Who are you_?

The voice entered unbidden into his head, sent by a powerful Psychic force that he knew he could not block even if he tried. Nevertheless, on reflex, he threw up his mental wards, fangs bared, looking around even though he knew he would see no one.

_**Who are you, and how did you get in?**_ He could feel the pressure beating at his mind, and he knew before long he would have to give in, but for now he resisted.

"Concerned for your safety protocols?" Amos nodded. "I would be as well, I imagine, were our positions reversed. But I do not think you have any need to worry; I did not ever 'get in,' as you put it. I only managed to get close before I was knocked unconscious."

Silence.

"I assure you, first of all, that I am no spy—"

_Prove it. For all you claim you are not a spy, you certainly keep a tight hold on your mind—wards of a strength I've never seen in a Fire-type_.

"I had a superb teacher," said Amos dismissively. "I am no spy: I am simply an individual who has lost his home twice: once to the ravages of time, and once to the Master. While I am unable to take back what cruel time has taken from me, I have every intention of making the Master pay for the lives lost in what used to be Willow Dun, a town in the east. I was born Norusephas, the son of Kheskearos, but I have cast that name aside: I am Amoscandar from over-the-sea, and I wish to join you in your fight against that tyrant who so arrogantly calls himself Ambera's Master."

_Willow Dun?_ A pause. _Willow Dun is destroyed?_

"Did you not _know_?" spat Amos. "Have I come all this way to join fools? I grant you, Willow Dun was a small village, but I would have hoped that something as unsettling as the _destruction of an entire town _would not escape your notice—"

_You misunderstand, Ninetales_. Another pause. _Surely you did not think all of our forces were contained in a single location? What you have found is only one of our bases, and Willow Dun was not under our jurisdiction but another's. The eastern division has always been slow in granting us news; doubtless within a few days we would have heard of the event_.

"Within a few days?" Amos growled. "And after the deed has been done for a month? Your allies in the east are utterly incompetent and self-absorbed, then; it is just as well I found you and not them."

Anger surged against his mental wards.

_Know your place, fox! The only way out of that room is through the aid of a Ghost-type, and I do not ever have to give that order_.

"Yes, I suppose I did speak out of turn." Amos bowed his head. "I am sorry."

_Would you drop your wards already? There is no need for all this expenditure of effort and mutual mistrust: simply let me inside your head and I will be able to verify your intentions._

"I am loath to let anyone inside my mind," said Amos gravely. "I have lived a long life: you will find much, and most of it you will not like. I have borne a great deal of tragedy in all my years, not the least of which was the destruction of Willow Dun. It is not for nothing I am called _Burdenbearer_."

_Would you rather you stayed down there until your fire burned you to ash? Either let me in, or you shall die there. We are not in the business of taking risks, especially not with Ninetales_.

"The reputation of my species precedes me, then," sighed Amos, lowering his head. "Unfortunately it is one we have well-deserved, but certainly you understand that just because a crop is bad does not mean every fruit is rotten."

Silence.

"As you wish, then," he said, lowering his mental wards and feeling uncomfortably exposed. Something forced its way into his head, and he flinched, still uncomfortable with the idea. It was like a stirring rod, or a whirlwind inside his mind, and it was nearly painful in a way he couldn't quite describe; it felt like memories and feelings and sensations were being disorganized and shuffled about, like his mind was being altered and, in a way, violated, and it took all of his self control not to throw up another ward and block the presence from his mind.

Conrad flashed before his eyes, young and vibrant as he had been when Amos had first met him, and then Lukas, Matthias, Irenes, and, further back, his mother and his siblings and his father—

-_you see, my little snowb—_

_Your mother... _commented the presence.

_-You miss them, don't y—_

…_A human?_

_-You're tired, aren't you, Amos—_

_This is not Ambera…_

_-Norus? Nor—_

_Panic, and fear… What were you running away from?_

_-need another place, a place to start ov—_

_That same Luxray… This is not Ambera—surely you're not… from the east?_

_-Welcome, stranger, to Willow Du—_

_Another Ninetales…_

_-We sure hit it off, you and I, didn't we? And you hated me at first, too-_

-_fire, fire, all was noise and light and screaming and blood, he had to run, he had to flee, he had to protect the children, the town was burning—_

"Must you dig so deeply?" he snarled, the images and feelings and memories opening up a wound in his heart that he had hoped to ignore.

Immediately, the presence withdrew, and Amos collapsed, breathing heavily and trying to reign in his emotions: he felt like he was only a single prod away from breaking down, and he could not afford that: not now.

_I am sorry_. The voice sounded uncertain. _You… you do not lie. Your name is indeed apt for someone who has lived a life like yours._

There was another pause.

_I was wrong to ever have doubted you, though you must forgive our security measures… very rarely has anyone gotten so close to our base without actually finding it. We had to make sure…_

Amos said nothing, still lying on his side, panting.

_We will provide you with food shortly, so you may regain your strength and a Ghost can come and free you from your cell. On behalf of the Gold Division, I apologize deeply for your suffering_.

"You must apologize for nothing," said Amos in a low voice. "It is the Master who will apologize for my suffering, when I have finished with him."

True to their word, when he woke again there was a plate of food in the corner—meat and fruit, and plenty of both. Tiredly, he dragged himself over to it and began to eat. Almost immediately he felt eyes on him again, though different from before. He swallowed what was in his mouth and said "I thank you."

"You weren't kidding, were you?" He looked over his shoulder: a Gengar was leaning against the far wall. "You gave Alastair quite the scare when he looked into your mind…"

"I bear my pain well enough," muttered Amos. "I see no need for that pain to be spread. There is enough suffering in the world already."

"Yeah, I guess so…"

"A word of warning, Gengar," said Amos, looking down at the food again. "While I fully appreciate your nature and respect you for what you are, I will not have you interfering with my shadow or coming anywhere near my tails."

"Hey, friend, don't look at me." The Gengar sounded put out. "I know enough about your kind. My cousin messed with a Ninetales once: took him a couple weeks to wake up again."

Amos smiled slightly, though he made sure the Gengar could not see it.

"That wasn't _you_, was it?" asked the Ghost-type slyly.

Amos nearly choked. "N-no. Erm, probably not, I suppose, sometimes my memory, er, blurs together…" He had to hold his breath to keep from laughing. So _this _was what that fool Szeklein had been talking about. A cousin in a powerful position…

"Right." The Gengar didn't sound entirely convinced. "Anyway, whenever you've finished, I'm here to take you out."

Amos nodded, nearly shaking with suppressed laughter as he began to eat again. By the time he had finished, he was composed again, and by the time the Gengar had grabbed him and drug him through the wall into an open hallway, his face was impassive and unreadable again. Waiting for him was an Espeon, who bowed to him as the Ghost-type let go of him and he felt himself phase into physical reality again. He bowed in return.

"Alastair, I presume," said Amos, standing again.

"I am," said the Espeon.

"I am constantly amazed with the Psychic type," Amos muttered, grinning slightly. "For, with all due respect, a creature so small, you possess a great deal of power."

"You are formidable yourself," acknowledged Alastair, tail waving slightly. "Such a deep mind—and well-fortified. Your teacher was among the best."

"She would be honored to hear that, I am sure."

Alastair purred slightly. "Well, then, Amoscandar from over-the-sea… I welcome you on behalf of our leaders to the Gold Division of the Amberan Resistance. Your aid is welcome. If you will come with me, I will get you entered into our records and placed on a Team. You will begin work immediately." The Espeon cocked his head. "I trust there's no problem with that?"

"Hardly," growled Amos. "The sooner I begin, the sooner I have my revenge."

"Very well," said the Psychic-type, turning and gracefully padding away. "If you will follow me."

Amos nodded and swept after him.

Now it would begin. Now he would fight. Now the Master would know of his atrocities, and he would pay for every single one, if it took until his dying day.

_Prepare yourself, monster. This is the beginning of the end._


	4. Heart

**A/N:** Look who's still alive! Yeah, nothing for eight months, I know. But I'm still here. Hopefully this trend won't continue.

This chapter is dated. If you're reading this after reading the others a long time ago you'll probably be surprised, because none of the other chapters have been dated; but I have since gone back and added dates to all existing chapters. Take a look if you haven't already! It'll help you keep track of where in his life you are.

* * *

**Heart**

_"We are not solitary creatures. Oh, indeed, you may find the odd hermit who hides himself away in the mountains; and of course the Pokémon driven mad by the curse of the Mystery Dungeons are by their nature isolated. But left to our own devices we Pokémon instinctively seek out others, we form bonds, something we are driven to do. It is not just here: back where I was born, back among the humans... there, a bond is still an easy thing to form, and not easily broken. We Pokémon are defined by our bonds, by our connection to one another, and that is a connection I fear the Master does not and never will understand."_

**Ambera – The Gold Division – Year 215**

"These shall be your quarters," said the Espeon a few minutes later, stopping in front of a door set into the brown stone of the base's walls. How far underground they were Amos did not know; he had not seen the surface yet since being imprisoned a day ago.

"This is the team…. I have been assigned to?" he asked slowly.

"Yes," said Alastair, pawing at the door. "Team Heart."

"Heart…" the Ninetales said, trying the word out, staring at the largish portal.

"The leaders… well, you'll see." He knocked more forcefully. There was the sound of heavy pawsteps on the far side.

_Heart_, thought Amos, scowling on the inside. _A name for compassionate fools; the team is probably full of Luvdisc and Chansey. Why they would shunt me here I have no idea. Are they truly as incompetent as they seem?_

A Rhydon opened the door.

"Oh," said Amos stupidly before he could help himself.

"Petra, dear, this is Amos," said Alastair smoothly, purring, using his two-pronged tail to indicate the foxlike Pokémon. "He's just been assigned to your team."

"Oh?" rumbled the Rhydon, squinting down at him, her deep voice surprisingly gentle.

Amos remembered his manners in the face of his shock. He stood and bowed. "At your service, ma'am."

There was great, booming laughter above him. "Ma'am, he says," Petra rumbled. Amos looked up. "Hon, first of all, I ain't the leader, and second of all, how old're you?"

Amos inhaled. "Two… two hundred and fifteen." He searched for some form of address. "Petra," he added finally.

"Hon, you got a good century and a half and more on me, you got no room calling me 'ma'am,' is that clear?"

Amos eyed the massive claws that adorned the end of her heavy stone limbs. "Yes… Petra."

"I shall return to my own duties," Alastair said, bowing. "I leave you to it, Amoscandar."

"I…" Amos barely had time to look over at the rapidly-vanishing Psychic-type. "Thank you…"

Nonplussed and a little off-balance despite his normal self-possession, he turned and followed the Rhydon as she stomped into the team's quarters. What he saw—or rather what he felt—surprised him.

He had been here for a day, but so far his impression of the base as a whole was that it was barebones and simple; the torches that lit the walls (powered by Ghosts, he'd been told, when he asked) the primary ambience that danced across the rough walls of the myriad identical hallways. This place was largely the same, except that from it, from the very environment, he gained an unyielding interpretation of peace, of a kind of raw cleanliness and purity, as if from the very stone itself. There was a faint ringing in his ears, but where something like that would normally have annoyed him now he felt only calmness and acceptance. It was as if by entering this room, or rather, this hallway which branched off into several rooms, he had stumbled into peace itself. If it weren't for the calm, constant ringing in his ears, he might have begun to grow alarmed…

Petra stopped, and he very nearly crashed into her. It was hard to tell, but the expression on her plated face might have been a grin as she turned to look back at the fox and simultaneously indicate the ornate door she'd stopped in front of. "Yup, that's about everyone's reaction when they step in the first time. You seen one of these before, Amos?" She indicated her neck, raising her maw a little, and Amos spied for the first time a tiny bell nestled in the hollow under her jaw, tied around her neck, where there were gaps in her stony armor. She flicked it gently with one of her claws, and it let loose a tiny peal that seemed to cut through the Ninetales in a wave, soothing his soul in a way he hadn't felt since Conrad's hands drew across his back—

"What is it?" he asked.

"It's a Soothe Bell." She was still grinning, if an inflexible face can be said to grin. "Everybody on the team gets one! Our Captain, he collected 'em when he was young 'cause he liked the sound, and he hands 'em out to new Pokémon. Even wears one himself! Not that he needs one, him bein' what he is."

Words. Words? Words. There were none in Amos' head. "It is… quite… overpowering…" he said, finally, pulling the pieces of the sentence together in long, painful efforts.

She looked upset. "Oh, hon, is that so? Then you've come to the right team, dear."

The chiming had fallen silent, and he was able to pull his thoughts together again. "I… why? What makes you say that?" Moltres and Entei, he sounded so _stupid_.

"A Soothe Bell helps you relax, Amos, 'xactly what it sounds like it does. Why, when you've got one, it's hard even to get angry! And your stress just sort of melts away. But you look like you're havin' a hard time standin' on your own four paws just listenin' to mine. You gotta lotta stress, must be, if one little old bell's makin' you shake and shudder like you are."

Amos let out a breath, trying to regain his composure, licking at one of his paws and fluffing his tails indignantly behind him. Ninetales did _not_ act weak!

"Now you just head on inside this door and talk to our Captain. He'll get you squared away and acquainted with all the folks on this team! But he'll prob'ly send ya t'bed first, you look like you could use it." She slid open the door beside her and pushed him in, and he staggered ungracefully through the door.

This room was darker than it was outside. There were torches, yellow like the rest of the torches were, but they were dim to the point that the center of the room was shrouded in darkness. At the far end, there was another torch, slightly brighter, that illuminated a shallow, still pool. From here, it appeared empty. There was another door on the right side of the room—he could barely see its edge in the low light—and there was a glow coming from beneath, in the gap between the door and the floor. Assuming the mysterious team captain to be within, he started moving toward it, removing his eyes from the pool.

A second later:

"Where are you going?"

Amos froze.

The voice was gentle and melodic; even the simple question had sounded almost like a lullaby to his ears, a simple, short song that would have quieted a sobbing kit. The words were not accusatory. The closest emotion he could ascribe to them was that they radiated a sincere confusion, as if the owner of the voice could not understand Amos' decision to head for the door.

"I'm over here, you know."

More gentle melodies, more lullabies sung during a quiet sunset with wind cooling his body and stroking along his fur like the gentle hand of his Trainer—

Amos turned his head. There was a shape sticking out of the water, stark against the torch behind it, but clear and discernable. The water had not so much as rippled.

The shape that poked out of the pool was snakelike, except that from its head it sprouted two antennae that curved up into an almost heart-like shape, and two graceful, almost wing-like appendages that sank with the rest of its lithe body into the water. Pale red and blue decorated its body, but most of the Pokémon's skin was a soft, creamy color, like a Ninetales exposed to slightly too much sun. Amos felt his muzzle drop out of sheer amazement; the Pokémon positively radiated beauty, despite its simple shape and color scheme. He was hard-pressed to tear his eyes away from the magnificent creature, one he recognized, because Conrad had had one, so long ago…

"You… you are a…" _A Milotic_.

"And you are a Ninetales," said the Water-type unassumingly, stating a fact.

There were few times in his life that Amos had been speechless. This was one of them.

"Meditate with me for a while." It wasn't a command—never a command. The Milotic's voice did not have an imperative flair or a hint of demand; it was simply a suggestion, a quiet thought, an idea to be taken and accepted or rejected exactly as it was.

Amos padded toward him and sat, a respectable distance from the water, closed his eyes, and stilled his thoughts.

Time passed. How much he did not know; he knew only the sound of his own breathing and the quiet musical hum of the Milotic's, his thoughts focused inward, quiet and calm. In the presence of such a breathtaking creature, every thought felt brutish and simple.

"You carry a burden the size of a mountain, strapped to each of your tails, and yet you drag it on despite the fact that it should break every bone in your body."

Amos opened his eyes and nearly flinched. The Milotic was inches away from his muzzle, and this was the first time he had been able to get a good look at the Water-type's eyes. What was left of his eyes, anyway. They were both held firmly shut, and Amos could see lacerations and scars across both lids, ones that stretched up its face, moreso on the right side. It did not take him long to realize what it meant.

The Milotic was blind.

Again, no command, but a gentle compulsion forced him to speak. He may have been half-Hypnotized by this point.

"Would you tell me of the burdens you bear?"

"The loss of a father who did not care…" His voice sounded weak and childish, every syllable wavering. He felt feeble so close to this Pokémon, feeble and weak and shaking but somehow lighter than he had felt in decades. "The fate of a family left to the unknown…"

"Tell me," said the Milotic.

Amos wanted to stop—wanted to stop, because this was a stranger, a stranger who did not need or deserve to know his deepest pains—

"The pain of rejection, and the agony of being feared as something unnatural…"

"Tell me," said the Milotic again.

"The despair of being lost without a purpose…" Amos swallowed. The words kept coming. "The hope of finding a new home, only to have it crushed under the heel of a tyrant…"

"Tell me."

He could not stop.

"The weight of a hundred deaths and more, the weight of one hundred lives and more, the children of the dead seeking me for comfort and security…"

"Tell me."

He was shaking, he was a lost kit again, alone and cold, and this overbearing presence forced its way toward him and made him lay his secrets bare—

"The unending anger for a Master who treats us all as slaves…" he moaned finally, gasping for breath.

"Nine burdens," sang the Milotic's lullaby, "nine tales. The souls of lesser beings would be shattered by the pain you have borne. Perhaps it is that Ninetales have a thousand years so that they may bear all of their burdens." A breath, a harmony with a note unheard. "Such anger it is, seeped into your bones and your blood. Your body is alive with anger. The grudge you hold is your very source of strength. Is it any wonder to you, Ninetales, that your energy is sapped by the sound of peace?"

Amos said nothing, gasping for breath. Every word the gorgeous Pokémon spoke had the same effect as the Soothe Bell tied around the Rhydon's neck. Amos could not see such a bell on the Milotic anywhere: if this was his effect without it, then what wonders was he capable of crafting when he wore it?

"Tell me your name, burdenbearer."

"Noru… Am-Amoscandar."

"My name is Collin." _Collin_? What a mundane name for an extraordinary creature such at this! How could he have settled to be deemed such?

"You… you are the…"

"I am the captain of this team."

"How…" Amos forced his thoughts to behave, forced them into line with every bit of will he had. "How… did you know…?"

"Do you think because I am blind I cannot know things?" The Milotic laughed.

The Milotic _laughed_.

It was the sound of the wind in the trees and the birds singing happily to the rising sun; it was the sound of a gentle rain falling just outside the window, the sound of Conrad's fingers dancing joyfully over the piano keys as he spelled out a joyous melody from inside his mind—

"It is when the world is covered in darkness that the secrets of many become plain," he said, his voice still gently shaking with laughter. "You rely on your eyes, don't you, Amoscandar? You rely on what you can see, and you store it and you think about it, and when you no longer have room for it in your head it moves to your back and to your tails and you walk stiffly, chained by the mountain of burdens you have accrued."

He said nothing. Sounds and images were blurred and distorted and he felt half-asleep, his body made of stone and tied to the ground.

"Relax, burdenbearer," said Collin, his voice seeming to echo down a long hallway. "Relax and sleep. For today at least, your burdens are lifted."

Darkness.

* * *

He floated. The sleep was not quite dreamless, because when he woke he remembered snatches of voices and feelings and thoughts and colors, but what he remembered most about it was a sensation of sheer weightlessness.

He had no mass. No significance. There was a ringing in his ears. His body was lighter than the clouds, floating up to the great roof of the sky and bouncing against it like a Drifblim trapped in a too-small room.

There was ringing in his ears.

* * *

He realized he was conscious.

He didn't move, didn't so much as alter his breathing, because wherever he was he felt so comfortable; if he opened his eyes he would have to wake up, and if he woke up he would have to move, and if he had to move…

"Are you going to lie there all day?"

It was a smooth voice. Not musical like the Milotic's, but still graceful and careful. It had something of an edge to it, a constant tinge of laughter, like the owner was constantly smiling.

"This is a Resistance Base, you know," it continued, and there was a definite giggle in its voice now. Female. "It's not a hotel."

Amos grunted.

"My, how undignified!" The female seemed jokingly indignant. "I thought Ninetales were supposed to be all grace and pomp."

The Ninetales inhaled.

"How long has it been since you've had a good rest?" If the sound of a curious headtilt could be put into words, it was here. "Collin had to Hypnotize you pretty hard to get you down. You don't let others in easily, do you?"

He let out a long, careful breath and opened his eyes. The torches were blue; the room, what he could see of it, was small and grayish in the light, except for the deep ocean blue of the Pokémon curled around him—

Curled around him?

"Who…?" he started.

The blue length shifted, and he could feel the length of the creature loosening from around his body, and the entire creature slowly slid into view in front of him; long, but not as long as a Milotic, and a deep, bottomless blue, save for her stomach, which was a pure white—but tinged sky-blue in the light of the torches. Two decorative wings adorned her head, as well as a tiny horn set above and between two large, warm, brown eyes.

Beneath her gently-curved maw was a stone, wrapped gently around her body by a shiny green fabric. It seemed to be glowing slightly in the light of the torches.

Amos pushed himself heavily to his paws, shaking himself, fighting down a yawn as he pulled his leftmost tail forward to groom it.

"See?" The Pokémon giggled again. "You don't even say hi, first thing you do is make sure you look nice!"

Amos nodded curtly, fanning his tails back as he sat. "Why were you coiled around me?"

"Well you looked so lonely, silly," said the blue creature, sticking out her tongue playfully. "I mean you're all alone in this room. Out like a light, though. Collin must have had to work hard!"

She pulled forward again, and then pulled the tip of her tail up to pat him on the head. He flinched slightly.

"My name's Cassandra! But you can just call me Sandra. I'm a Dragonair, but I don't blame you if you didn't know that."

"Amoscandar," he replied, backing away uneasily. This Pokémon's sheer enthusiasm was unnerving him.

"I know! He told me." She was positively beaming. "So you're on our team now, are you? Well you're welcome! To be honest we were kind of getting imbalanced, there were so many girls joining 'cause they think Collin's so pretty."

Amos blinked. "… 'They'?"

"Silly, I don't just think he's pretty, I know he is." Her eyes lit up, sparkling in the blue glow of the room. "We're mates!"

"You….?" Amos was genuinely surprised. "Well… you are certainly very lucky…"

"Yup! I certainly am." Sandra flicked her tail, and he heard a clear ringing sound that was already becoming familiar. A Soothe Bell slid down to the two jewels at the tip, and she held it up. "These are for you! Collin would have given them to you but he thought you needed to sleep first. He was probably right, based on the fact that, y'know, you've been out all day."

Amos stared uncertainly at the bell. "I... I am not sure I…."

"You'll get used to it!" The Dragon flicked her tail again. The little chime sounded. "Please at least take it?" The shining exuberance was replaced by a sad, almost pouting expression. What alarmed him more than anything, more than the range of her emotions, was that everything she felt, from tittering amusement to pride to sadness, seemed absolutely _sincere_. This was a Pokémon who was not afraid to ever show what she was feeling.

Amos struggled for a moment, but could not resist the awful, depressed look in Sandra's gigantic eyes, and he took the bell in his teeth and pulled it off of her tail, passing it off to one of his tails, which coiled around it and muffled the sound.

"There you go!" Back to raw, radiating happiness again. "Now you're a real member of Team Heart!"

_Heart_, he thought. _So this is what the name of the team means. Empathy, kindness; exuberance when necessary, and quiet when required. They are keepers of the peace, representatives of the bonds that bind us all…_

"Thank you."

"Now, Amoscandar, it's kind of late, so you might want to just lie back down for a little while and then when everybody else wakes up in the morning we'll get right down to business!"

She began to slide past him. The door must have been on his far side. Before she left his vision, though, the Ninetales at last managed to find his tongue.

"This is… this is not what I had in mind, when I joined…"

Sandra stilled. He turned so he could look at her face again. Her eyes had dimmed and her bubbly exterior seemed to have popped.

"I mean to say," Amos continued, "for an organization meant to counter the Master, this all seems very…" _Frilly? _"…disorganized."

"Every team does things a different way," said Sandra simply, turning to face him, and he had a feeling he was facing a rare moment of somberness from her. "Some teams are violent and rash and pick fights. Some teams are liars and tricksters. Collin and I don't want that. What we wanted, what we're making, is a team of peacemakers. Of peaceful Pokémon. We take in the ones with severe anger, with violent hearts, and we make them kind again." Her face darkened. "The Master is cruel and angry and destructive. His anger makes other Pokémon cruel and angry and destructive. The least we can do is make sure that the anger of others doesn't spread any further."

"I…"

"He told me about you. He told me that he had to work to get you to let down your guard, harder than he'd ever had to work before. It might not have seemed that way to you, but…" She paused. "I won't lie to you, the reason you were put on our team is because the anger you have inside is frightening. Reckless and stupid and scary and self-destructive."

"What are you—"

"Alastair was scared by what he saw in your mind, and believe me, it wasn't hard for the Gardevoir and Lucario of the base to feel exactly what you were feeling. You've got so much of it inside. You're waiting to explode. Amoscandar, you need help."

"Help…" Amos swallowed. He… he didn't need _help_. He did not. He had lasted this long on his own. He would not cave now.

"Think about it, okay?" said Sandra, the plea in her voice reflected in her eyes. How could he deny her? She was like a child. _Thinking_ about it did not mean _committing _to it, after all.

"I will… think about it," the Ninetales said.

Her face lit up yet again. "Yay! Hahahah, thanks so much, Amoscandar! And welcome to the team!" She rushed up and coiled gently around him in what he assumed was her attempt at a hug, and he could swear he felt her maw bump up against the crown of his head quickly before she uncoiled and, still bubbling and happy, slid out of the room with another "Thanks!"

Amos stared after her, mildly afraid. She had no concept of personal space, this one. He would have to be careful.

He didn't immediately fall back to sleep, though as he coiled up the torches dimmed as if in response, and the room was lit by a faint, eerie blue that did not quite reach him in the center.

_Help_, he mused tiredly, one tail laying tiredly over his eyes. _Child, you have no room to offer me help. I am only here for one reason, and it is not to be counseled._ _Leave your peace efforts to others, and do not offer me one of your enfeebling Soothe Bells. I will find my own method for dealing with my problems. Only cowards and naïve fools seek a peaceful resolution to a conflict that has already escalated beyond it._

His dark broodings continued for a few minutes more, but soon enough he fell under again, and was nothing more than a dark blob in a dimly-lit blue room.


End file.
